


Risky Business

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Quiet Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you mad?” Spy hissed, when the doctor's lips pressed against the back of his neck. The hand on his chest began moving downward. “Docteur!”<br/>“Shh.”<br/>“We'll be heard!”<br/>“Not if you be quiet,” Medic murmured into the nape of Spy's neck, nosing the hem of his mask up to get at the soft, sensitive skin underneath. Spy tried to fight back a shiver of pleasure, then bucked his hips slightly as the doctor's large hand cupped him through the front of his pajama trousers.<br/>This was a <i>terrible</i> idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risky Business

The transfer from one base to another was always a tedious thing, made even more tedious by the fact that they generally never had more than a day's warning. A single day to pack up all of their belongings into suitcases and trunks, and all of their supplies into crates. Load them into the provided mode of transport – sometimes a train, sometimes a couple of armored trucks with faceless, silent drivers – and try to settle themselves for the ride. It was always a hassle.

But _this_ was ridiculous.

Spy had had plans. He had things to do, plans to follow through on. Weeks of planning, all lost, because of this buffoonery.

The call had come in that they were to be moved to a new location. Engineer, as always, was the one to answer to little red telephone that signaled an eminent switch to a new temporary home with little to no warning. And this was the least warning they'd ever had.

Three hours.

They all had three entire hours to pack up and be ready to leave. Anything they couldn't fit in their bags would be left behind, and anything left behind would be destroyed.

They grumbled, they shouted, they made rude gestures at the security cameras. And then, when they all realized they only had two hours and twenty-five minutes left to pack, they all quietly filed into the rooms and began to gather their things.

But as little as they were ready for the base, it was even less ready for them.

When they arrived at their new home, they found it in shambles. The perimeter fence was falling apart. Heavy had to mash the buttons of the little code box so hard they nearly cracked before their password was accepted. Trash and debris littered the yard, and Scout swore up and down he'd seen bones poking out of the dirt. The outside of the building was peppered with bullet holes and scorch marks and the paint was so sun-bleached it had begun peeling away from the wood. The front door creaked loudly when opened, and the very first thing Spy noticed upon stepping inside was the sheer amount of _dust._

Everything was covered in it. The windows were nearly blocked up with grime and rotting boards, and the floor itself was coated in a thick layer of old, greying dust. The place looked as though it hadn't been disturbed in decades, save for the obvious footprints and scrapes surrounding the large pile of boxes waiting for them in the middle of the room. At first, there had been optimism. Perhaps it was a reward for them, or a treat to make their journey here worthwhile. Optimism soon turned to dismay when the lights blinked on and they all got a good look at their “presents.”

Mann Co. had been gracious enough to provide them with brand new sets of furniture. Tables, chairs, shelves, chests of drawers, bed frames. And all of it was not yet assembled.

Much of the morning was spent waiting for Engineer to decipher the vague, rambling, diagram-heavy directions (Sniper eventually took pity and helped translate), and then the afternoon was taken up by the nine of them all struggling to piece together the individual pieces and parts of what they hoped was going to be their nice new furniture. Beds, a dining table and chairs, shelves, small chest-of-drawers for each of them to store their clothes and belongings in. A few smaller tables as well, presumably to be used as they pleased. And then, finally, as night began to fall everyone started to argue over which room they planned to claim as their own.

In the ensuing chaos, Spy stepped out to have a very long smoke. When he returning, seven grown men were sitting cross legged in a semi-circle on the floor while Pyro paced in front of them, a fire axe in their hands, giving an incoherent speech to the assembled members of the team. Spy quietly joined everybody on the floor and waited for Scout or the Texan to begin translating.

This was what the arsonist came up with.

* * *

Spy lay awake in the darkness. The mattress beneath him was lumpy and the blanket on top of him was too thin, and too short. He couldn't pull it up as high as he wanted to without uncovering his feet. Or perhaps it was simply sideways. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it now, in the middle of the night.

Spy was in hell.

He did not like to sleep out in the open like this. Certainly not a single room with all of his teammates all around him, dark lumps scattered around in their own beds, which were of varying construction quality. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Doubly so, sleeping on his side with his back to a couple of people that he could not currently see. And the _sounds._

Heavy breathing. Snoring. Farting. A nasal whistle from somewhere on the far side of the room. Earlier, someone had spent a solid twenty minutes violently tossing and turning on their lumpy, creaking cot. Each squeal of a protesting spring set Spy's teeth further on edge, and just when it stopped and he thought he would finally be able to relax, the nose whistle started. Whoever it was – and he finally much intended to find that out in the morning – they were in for a world of hurting at his hands.

Logically, Spy knew he couldn't stay awake and stew forever. He'd slept in far, far more terrible conditions than these, and slept soundly. It was a learned talent. All he had to do was close his eyes, steady his breathing, and relax.

No sooner had he made this decision then he heard something moving nearby.

A shadow appeared in the darkness. A black silhouette against an already blackened room, accompanied with the soft rustle of heavy fabric. Someone else was awake in the middle of the night.

When the silhouette rose to its feet, Spy watched it intently through the slits of his barely-opened eyes. They were a broad, tall shape, too wide for the Sniper and not wide enough to be the Heavy. Soldier, perhaps, or the Demoman, rising to take a piss because they had not bothered to go before bed.

But when the shadow drew close to his bed and stopped, Spy recognized it as someone else entirely.

“Scoot,” the Medic breathed, barely loud enough for Spy to hear him as he pulled up the blankets covering Spy's back. It was a pleasant surprise, the doctor's boldness to join him this way, but the warmth and companionship was always appreciated. Spy obliged the request automatically, silently inching closer to the edge of the mattress to provide enough room for Medic to slip into the bed behind him. As soon as he did, Spy felt a strong, warm arm wrap around his chest and a hard, hot bulge pressing against the back of his thigh.

'Companionship' was not what Medic appeared to be after.

“Are you mad?” he hissed, when the doctor's lips pressed against the back of his neck. The hand on his chest began moving downward. _“Docteur!”_

“Shh.”

“We'll be heard!”

“Not if you be quiet,” Medic murmured into the nape of Spy's neck, nosing the hem of his mask up to get at the soft, sensitive skin underneath. Spy tried to fight back a shiver of pleasure, then bucked his hips slightly as the doctor's large hand cupped him through the front of his pajama trousers.

This was a _terrible_ idea.

Seven other people were in the room. Seven other people that they had to work with every single day, look in the eyes over the breakfast table, trust with their very lives on the battlefield. And Medic wanted to have sex in front of them.

Granted, it was very dark. And this late in the dead of night it was likely all of them were deeply asleep. But all it would take was for one person to wake up. Someone could be a light sleeper, or have a weak bladder. They could grow suspicious of the little noises that were sure to be made by two grown men writhing together in a very small bed. If the lights were suddenly turned on or – _god forbid –_ there were cameras installed in the room, then Spy and Medic would be caught with absolutely no excuse for their behavior.

It was an awfully big risk. And one that excited Spy greatly.

A tiny moan escaped his mouth as Medic ground against him. The doctor stopped.

“ _Shh.”_

Spy pressed his lips tightly together. Medic's hand slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear.

There was something despicable about a surgeon's hands. The control and quiet strength within those long fingers, and the precision they were capable of were qualities that had undone him many a time, and in many a ways. Medic was capable of being wonder and cruel and wonderfully cruel and Spy never really knew what he was going to get until he was in the middle of it. Tonight was proving no different.

While the doctor's right hand was busy teasing his cock awake, his left was twisting itself between their bodies, slipping suddenly down the back of Spy's pants and pressing a pair of long, unexpectedly slick fingers into him without warning. Spy sucked in a shocked breath and clutched at his blankets. Medic sucked hard at the junction of his shoulder. Spy felt teeth scrape lightly against his skin as those fingers pressed deeply into him, stretching him.

Medic's chest was pressed against his back, two bodies sandwiched together on the narrow cot, breathing and panting in as complete a silence as they could muster. It was difficult. Spy wanted to moan long and low as the digits scissored inside him, fingertips deep enough to just graze his prostate. And when the doctor finally withdrew them after several agonizing minutes of preparation, it was all Spy could do not to cry out as he so usually did when the slick, thick head of a cock began pressing into his readied hole.

“ _Breathe,”_ Medic's voice whispered next to his ear as he pushed deeper into him. _“Breathe...”_

Spy breathed, and turned his face in to the pillow to quiet himself. Medic pushed into so slowly that Spy could barely feel him moving at all. At least not until he stopped, leaning hard into Spy's body to put all the force of his weight against Spy's prostate for one... two... three minutes.

And then, just when Spy thought he couldn't take it any longer, the doctor began to move again.

It was a slow, gentle, tantric fuck like nothing he'd ever felt before. The slow, insistent pressure of being filled should have been a trial of patience, but it was anything but. Medic's self control was a beautiful and terrifying thing to be at the mercy of and Spy found himself simultaneously wanting this to be over with and for it to drag on forever and ever. His toes curled tight against the balls of his feet as Medic's hips pressed flush against his ass. His fingers were gripping his blankets so tightly they ached, and when that wasn't good enough he grabbed the hard edge of the mattress and held on in a desperate, white-knuckled grip.

Medic's thrusts were as regular and relentless as one of the Engineer's perfectly calibrated machines, slowed down to an agonizing crawl. Spy Spy could feel every inch of the doctor's cock dragging against his insides. It filled him so completely, so fully that he could feel Medic's heartbeat thrumming through him in tandem with his own. Pulling out was just as slow and complete. A creeping emptiness that he came to dread, and also long for because it meant in a few moments he could be full again, and again, and again.

Spy was sweating despite the relative lack of physical exertion. He'd never been so quiet in his life. Neck aching from pressing his face in to the pillow, jaw locked from being clenched so tightly for so long, hands and feet cramping, every muscle unbearably tense and taut as the doctor drove into him at a snail's pace. There was no sound at all, save for their hushed breathing and the soft, obscure rustling of the sheets. This was so far from their other trysts in every way possible. Instead of rough and frantic this was soft and measured. Instead of howling and panting and begging and whining and _screaming,_ there was only silence. Instead of hiding away in some dark room or corner behind a locked door where no one could find them, they were instead in the middle of a crowded room, surrounded by all of their friends and coworkers who might discover them at any time.

It was the thought of getting caught that proved too much for Spy.

Medic had kept up the rhythm for what felt like an eternity, but perhaps only twenty minutes or more, and even in his haze of tortured ecstasy Spy could tell that his lover was getting closer to his limit. His thighs were trembling against the backs of Spy's own, and his breathing was coming out in long, steady huffs through his nose down Spy's back. The arm around Spy's middle, a strong hand lightly gripping the jutting bone of his hip was tense with held-back strength.

Spy heard a noise from across the room. Or perhaps he only imagined he heard it, but it was still enough to drag him over the brink of orgasm. Heat flooded his nerve endings, a white-hot jolt of electricity up his spine that made him shake from head to toe. His mouth opened in a gasp, only be to be swiftly covered by one of Medic's hands tightly gripping his jaw and cheeks, palm forming a tight, flat seal over his open lips.

Spy's spine curved with Medic's chest as the doctor followed him in climax, pulling out to paint the back of Spy's thighs with hot slickness. Spy could feel him shuddering, then jolted when a set of straight, sharp, pearly-white teeth clamped down on the skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Medic's jaws released him almost immediately, sucking and soothing the sting away with gentle brushes of his hot tongue, but Spy just knew that there would be an unmistakably bite-shaped bruise in his skin the next morning. Hidden under the hem of his mask, of course, but he would know it was there. And so would Medic.

For a long while they just lay there, breathing silently, wrapped in each other's limbs on the lumpy and narrow mattress. Spy's blankets were a mess. He would have to hide them in the morning before anyone could see. He would have to shower and change before anyone was up, and Medic would likely have to as well. No one could know of what they had done there that night. Silently and invisibly, in a room full of people, making love completely in secret.

It was thrilling. It was terrifying. It was _stressful._ And now that Spy had had a taste of Medic's particular brand of risk and reward, he was very interested to see what further boundaries of social etiquette they could push together.

“ _Docteur,”_ he breathed, turning his head to try and look back over his shoulder. Medic hummed in response. “You really are a madman.”

Spy could feel the doctor's laugh more than he could hear it, vibrating through his partner's chest to his own back. A wonderful feeling. Though not as wonderful as the warm lips on the shell of his ear, the huff of hot breath across his cheek as Medic curled closer against him.

“Did you love it?”

“Yes,” Spy breathed back. _“Je t'aime.”_

Medic's lips curled into a smile against his ear.


End file.
